Reassured that Ashley was indeed fine, Gordon looked around. Something was wrong with this picture. “Where in Hades is Beth? Why’s Ashley here with you?” He’d been too scared before to question why Mackie Smith was the one who had called him. Now he wanted some answers.
“Uh...there was an unavoidable emergency.”
“...‘an unavoidable emergency,’” he repeated. “Right...I’ll just bet.” A pause, then a derisive chuckle. “You’ll find Beth’s whole life is a series of ‘unavoidable emergencies.’ Another one of those endearing foibles of hers I tried to tell you about. Beth’s a manipulator, using everything and everybody to get what she wants. Believe me, I could cite chapter and verse—”
Mackie gave an impatient sigh. “I’m sure you’re relishing this opportunity to throw in a few more slurs about Beth, but it’s been a long day and I’m too tired to spar with you right now.”
Gordon heard the weariness in her voice and almost felt sorry for her. This was not the poised, self-confident woman he’d dealt with earlier. A few hours ago she’d been bandbox perfect—tailored wool suit, shiny gold earrings, spotless black pumps. Then, he’d come close to hating her—and her ability to tear his and his daughter’s life into shreds without breaking a sweat. This woman looked exhausted and vulnerable. Stained silk blouse hanging loose over her skirt, one earring missing, shoes off and a gaping run snaking up a leg of her sheer stockings. Quite a contrast.
She became aware of his assessment, smoothing back her mussed hair and tucking in her blouse. “Well...” she began, “guess it was only a false alarm. Go back home. We’ll be OK.”
Gordon cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t think so.”
“You saw for yourself, Ashley isn’t sick. Sorry I bothered you, but there’s no point in your hanging around.”
“I won’t be ‘hanging around.’ I’m taking my daughter home.”
“I can’t let you do that.”
“Try and stop me.”
“You know full well I can’t, but the judge’s order can.”
“Nice try, Ms. Smith. Only the order says Ashley’s mother has visitation privileges this weekend. It says nothing about some hired hand laying claim to her. Besides, an hour ago you were ready to bring her to me.”
“Things have changed since then.” Mackie’s brain raced. “Surely you know the position you’re placing me in.”
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t get overly concerned with your ‘position.’”
“OK then, think about yourself. From where I’m sitting, Judge Fillmore isn’t all that fond of you. He isn’t keen on being sassed in court. Whether or not Beth violated the terms of her visitation—and that remains to be seen—if you take Ashley, then you will be too. Do you want to chance riling the judge even more, and possibly strengthening Beth’s hand when we do pursue joint custody?”
Gordon seemed to mull that one over. And while he was, Mackie added, “Besides, Ashley is down for the night Why wake her up when she’s already had a bad evening?”
More mulling on Gordon’s part. “I’m not about to walk out of here without my daughter. Yet you do have a point about not waking her up.” Gordon wasn’t about to concede any other points. “I’ll just camp out until Beth shows up.”
“No way. I must insist—”
“Insist till doomsday. I’m not leaving my daughter in the care of a stranger who clearly doesn’t know much about small children. Unless you think you’re strong enough to throw me out.”
“I wish.”
“Then you have a choice—either you get Beth over here pronto or I stay the night.”
CHAPTER TWO
GORDON’S pronouncement caused Mackie to throw her hands in the air. “So stay! But just so you know...I own one bed, which I have no intention of giving up. Or sharing. That leaves the couch for you and, as you can see, it’s sixty inches at best.” She gave a smirking assessment of his six foot plus frame. “I’m sure you’ll get lots of sleep.”
“Probably more than I was going to get before, worrying about Ashley with Beth. At least I’ll be able to ensure Ash is OK.”
“Well now that everything’s resolved to your satisfaction, I’m going upstairs to change into something more comfort—” Mackie stopped. All she’d meant to convey was that she was getting out of her work clothes, but the words were classic innuendo.
“Into something else,” she corrected. “Then I plan to have a sandwich. I haven’t eaten since lunch.” Without waiting for a response, she started up the stairs. Gordon remained behind in silence, yet with every step, she could feel his eyes following her ascent.
Minutes later, when Mackie returned to her living room dressed in an old pair of gray sweats, Gordon wasn’t there. She went to the kitchen and found him hunched over her refrigerator, pulling out packages of deli ham and cheese. Lettuce and a ripe red tomato were already draining on a paper towel by the sink.
“Making yourself right at home I see.”
“I haven’t eaten much today, either. Hope you don’t mind my helping myself. If you do, just bill me.”
Mackie rolled her eyes and handed him a loaf of seven-grain bread from the pantry. “Feel free... and while you’re at it, you can fix me a sandwich, too. Mustard, no mayonnaise.
“What do you want to drink?” she asked, replacing him at the refrigerator. “Milk? Beer? Water?”
“Whatever you’re having.”
“I hate that,” Mackie said. “Just pick what you prefer.” She set a Michelob on the counter along with a half gallon of milk.
“Milk. OK?”
Gordon had finished assembling the sandwiches and placed one in front of her, watching as Mackie poured milk into their glasses. “And what else do you hate?”
“Blue eye shadow, party cocktail wieners drenched in messy barbecue sauce, smokers puffing away at the next table in a restaurant,” she answered nonchalantly, carrying her food to the glass-topped table.
“Strange, isn’t it,” Gordon said, grabbing a napkin and joining her.
“What’s strange?”
“Us sitting here eating together like a couple of old friends.”
Her expression was one of incredulity. “Oh, I hardly think anyone would mistake us for friends.”
“Disgruntled married couple then.”
“Bad image, but closer.”
“Too close. I’d say we’re experts on bad marriages and the fallout that goes with them.”
“What do you know about me and my marriage?” Mackie said warily. He was right, but the details of her miserable four years with Bruce weren’t common knowledge.
“Nothing. Actually I was referring to your profession, not you personally. However, few people get into their thirties without taking the plunge at least once. Have you had a bad experience?”
A disastrous one. But the scars of her marriage—a bruised heart and pummeled psyche—were none of Galloway’s business. “It’s no secret I’ve been married,” she admitted, “but it’s not a subject I care to talk about.”
“Well, if we’re going to spend the night together, I think I should know something more about you than your name and marital status, don’t you?”
“If we were ‘spending the night together,’